Page 23 of Lucien

Luc could do this.

He straightened his spine, letting out a deep breath. And then his thoughts turned somewhere he didn’t usually let them go. He thought of his old friend.

Roman.

Someone Luc very much tried not to let into his mind these days. But Roman had been patient when he’d met his lovely human. He hadn’t turned Danny right away. He’d let the boy develop feelings first. He’d let the boylovehim.

Until Luc had forced his hand, that was.

Were Roman and Danny still in Hyde Park? Luc had made it a point not to track them, not to follow up. He was afraid if he gave in to any of the old impulses, he’d give in to all of them, tormenting Roman just because it soothed that angry, injured part of himself.

Could Luc be as patient as Roman had been? Jamie wanted Luc already; that much was certain. The human kept offering himself up on a goddamn platter, for fuck’s sake. But could he grow to love Luc? Enough to choose Luc over his human life?

No one had ever chosen Luc before. Not unless they were under incredible duress (memories flashed through his mind—Roman on that battlefield, bloody and broken, asked to choose between death or a companion, not knowing what he was really agreeing to). The thought that someone might made Luc’s heart feel like it was going to stop in his chest.

Luc made a decision then, moving to throw on a fresh shirt before inspecting his hands to make sure all the blood was gone. He would go out tonight. The sun had long since set. If he was going to play nice with humanity, for Jamie’s sake, then he needed to make sure the monster was sated. Luc couldn’t have it urging him to snap someone’s neck when Jamie was introducing him to his loved ones. Luc needed to kill.

Which meant he needed to suss out the evil in this town.

He stopped at the front desk on his way out, where the same old man who’d checked him in was on duty now. Luc lowered his sunglasses to meet the man’s rheumy eyes, deciding to kill two proverbial birds with one stone. “There’s been an accident in my room,” he said, pushing a thread of compulsion into his voice. “A faulty vanity. No need to replace it until after I leave. You’ll let the staff know.”

“Faulty vanity,” the man—Gustav, his name tag read—repeated slowly.

Luc nodded approvingly, still holding his gaze. “Tell me where you’re afraid to go in this town. Tell me where the bad people are.”

Luc had thought the concierge would perhaps name a dive bar, some sleazy spot with unruly patrons. But the man had led him to a residential neighborhood. A nice, affluent-looking neighborhood at that, all expensive cars and meticulous landscaping. Apparently, where Gustave was afraid to go in this town centered around an old neighbor. One he’d never been fully comfortable around. One he’d once seen systematically pulling the legs off a tarantula, with a dead look in his eyes the concierge had never forgotten.

Luc grinned to himself as he exited his vehicle. A serial killer in the making, perhaps? His blood heated at the thought. He’d let the monster smell him out.

His monster had a knack with evil. A way of sussing out the worst in people. For over half a century now, it had been leading Luc to prey worth killing. People he could drain dry without remorse. That was their compromise, their covenant with each other. Luc would give in to the monster’s urges—violence, blood, death—but only for people who deserved its wrath.

He told himself it slowed the descent into madness, to draw these lines. But who really knew?

Gustav had given him an exact address, one the old man had never forgotten. Luc lurked in the shadows near the house, getting a feel for how many humans might be inside. He was too far away to distinguish heartbeats, but he could make out noises from within the home.

His monster had perked up at the thought of the hunt, momentarily halting its incessant whining for Jamie. Sure, Luc’s skin felt too tight, and his chest ached in a way he wasn’t very familiar with, but the beast within was at least sensing something else it could indulge in here.

Making the call that the noises were coming from just one occupant, Luc headed toward the house. But before he could approach the porch, he heard the sound of the side door opening.

Even better, if the prey would come to him.

He prowled over to the driveway where the side door opened up. The little strip of asphalt was encased in darkness, but Luc’s enhanced vision made out an older man—around Gustav’s age—with a trash bag in hand. Luc breathed in.

Ohh, he’s wicked, his monster sighed.Rotten inside. Perfect.

That was all Luc needed. He pounced.

In less than a blink of an eye, he had the man pinned to the side of the house, his thick neck soft and breakable under Luc’s grip, the trash bag forgotten on the gravel.

Luc lifted his sunglasses, meeting the man’s frightened gaze, his red-rimmed eyes. “Tell me all the terrible things you’ve done,” he ordered, compulsion laced around his words.

He listened then as the man confessed to him. Luc supposed he could have been more specific—everyone’s definition of “bad” was different, and his prey was offering up all kinds of mundane missteps from his many years of life—but eventually Luc got what he wanted.

A lone woman at a bus stop. A secret burial in the desert. The unceasing urge to do it again.

Luc bared his teeth in a sharp grin, his lips stretching further as his prey started whimpering pathetically at the sight of his fangs. “Shh,” Luc soothed. “Hush now. I would tell you this isn’t going to hurt, but believe me, it will. I’ll make sure of it.”

He took a moment—him and his monster both—to revel in the man’s whimpers, even as he wrinkled his nose against the sharp, acrid smell of his sweat, his fear.

---